In the week Rupert Murdoch graced Parliament with a state visit, a rival had
the cheek to challenge that humblest of moguls for the title Greatest Living
Australian-born Male.

I refer to the former Test cricket captain Steve Waugh, who, in his role on the MCC’s Anti-Corruption Working Party, reiterated his idea that international captains should submit to the lie detector concerning the fixing of matches.

The professional cricketers’ organisation, the FICA, has already thrown a metaphorical foam pie at him, dwelling on the detector’s imperfect record. Here, one suspects, they are influenced by how Sharon Stone beat it in Basic Instinct. Yet must we base our opinions solely on the singular abilities of knickerless sociopaths?

Given that the lie detector’s accuracy rate is reckoned at 96-98 per cent, my objection to Mr Waugh’s plan is that it doesn’t go nearly far enough. It should be extended, with modifications, across the sporting spectrum.

Although Mr Murdoch might have objected had someone offered him and James the electrodes on Tuesday, the Sky Sports supremo has always prided himself as a pioneer of new technology. So I appeal to him to introduce Sky Sports subscribers, without delay, to Hawk-Eye’s mad cousin, Polly Graph.

The proposal is this. Inserted into every batsman’s helmet should be a mini-MRI machine that scans the brain for signs of mendacity – a technique law enforcement agencies have been exploring for a while, as featured in an episode of the TV medical drama House. This device would be connected to a machine contained within the groin-protecting box, and modelled on the Taser.

If a batsman refused to walk, for example, despite being well aware of a thin outside edge, 250 volts would instantly be imparted to the genitals. Apart from its obvious deterrent value, this would produce a far speedier decision than poring over countless super slo-mo replays in search of a ‘hot spot’, and so improve the flow of the game.

By no means, however, should the principle be limited to cricket.

Footballers (other than Petr Cech) may not wear helmets, but a variant deploying voice analysis software would help referees in their duties. If Didier Drogba went down claiming a penalty when you could have parked two Boeing 777s between him and the nearest defender, natural justice would be served by a short, sharp shock that gave him compelling reason to stay down, writhing in agony, until removed by stretcher.

It would revolutionise the monumentally tedious ritual of the managerial post-match interview. Knowing that selective blindness would be rewarded with an excruciating jolt to the nether regions would do wonders for Arsène Wenger’s eyesight.

As for Fifa, the possibilities are so enticing that you wonder whether Sepp Blatter’s rigid opposition to goal-line technology is anything more than a pre-emptive defensive stance against the march of Polly Graph.

Imagine the humiliation avoided had Polly been available to leaders of England’s 2018 World Cup bid. “So, Jack Warner, just to recap. You and your Concacaf chums will definitely vote for us?

“Mr Beckham, I give you my solemn word of hon... Aaaaaaaaaaaargh.”

Any such devices would need to be rigorously tested, or Waugh gamed, before going into widespread usage. So perhaps, the next time he is asked whether he deliberately drove someone off the track, Lewis Hamilton would consent to act as guinea pig.

Failing that, maybe the 2012 Tour de France could double up as a clinical trial, with every cyclist questioned about chemical assistance before each stage. Clearly this would place the yellow jersey on an asthmatic, 17-stone Merthyr Tydfil postman on a rusty Raleigh Chopper, but who could honestly object to the vibrant democratisation of an elite sport?

If this vision of tomorrow seems a depressingly long way from Dr Grace and the scent of freshly mown lawn wafting across the village green, so do spot-betting, drug-masking agents and Blatter. We cannot cocoon ourselves in a romanticised, jumpers-for-goalposts past during a technologically thrilling present. We have, with a little help from Steve Waugh, seen the future. And it zaps.